


A Storm of Ice and Wind

by an_upset_librarian



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, hopefully, nesta joins the illyrians, post acofas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-06-22 20:49:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15590442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_upset_librarian/pseuds/an_upset_librarian
Summary: Having been banished to the Illyrian mountains with Cassian, Nesta quickly learns things are not as calm or unified in the northern reaches of the Night Court. Torn apart by guilt and haunted by the memories of the War, Nesta learns to live with herself again. Her mysterious powers gifted by the Cauldron start flaring out of control, and Cassian offers to help as long as she helps him root out the source of Illyrian anger.





	1. I

              The war camp was _loud._

              Shouting, the clamor of metal as the warriors trained, the splattering of mud with every step. The thunderous roar of massive wings a constant beat in the air, clamoring in time with her pulse.

              Nesta _hated_ this camp. Or as close as she could get to hate in the haze of numbness clouding her mind and senses. The mild annoyance at the constant sound was the closest she had gotten to feeling anything in…months.

              Nesta crossed her arms, shielding her body against the ever-present chill in the air, and gazed through the gap of the curtains hanging from the window of her room. Cassian was out hunting with a few of the novice Illyrian warriors, having left before the sun rose over the horizon earlier that day.

              It had been three days since Rhys winnowed her into the camp, nearly tossing her into the mud upon their arrival. He pulled her bag from the pocket realm he used to store things and let it drop into a puddle of muddy water. Nesta hardly cared about the few clothes that were now no doubt soaked in mud. She felt nothing as Rhys fixed his intense violet gaze on her, the air swirling with his disdain.

              “I want you to know that Feyre did not come to this decision easily, that she agonized for _months_ over your behavior.” He bared his teeth, his dark power filling the space around them, drawing wary stares from the warriors in the campground.

              “Had it been my choice, I would have banished you from our court entirely. Know that I have not forgiven you for how you treated my mate, your _sister,_ ” He hissed. Nesta just jutted her chin out and maintained her expression of cold indifference, despite the rapid beat of her heart.

              While she knew he could smell her fear, she refused to let his words, or his posture intimidate her. His stare bored into her, as if expecting some kid of reaction, so Nesta just turned away from her sister’s husband and stared blankly into the forest surrounding the camp.

              Rhys had left with whispered orders said through gritted teeth to Cassian, who had watched the exchange from a few feet away, showing no signs of wanting to interfere. His face was unnaturally harsh as he turned away from Nesta and stomped over to an older Illyrian, one she recognized from the last time she came to this camp. The one that had called her a _witch_.

              “You’re Cassian’s problem now.” Rhys’s voice echoed from behind her, and with a clap of thunder, the High Lord of the Night Court was gone.

              Three days have passed since that moment. Since Feyre and her new _family_ banished her to these infernal mountains. A young Illyrian girl with caramel skin and bright green eyes had shown her to her room in the house in the camp, and for three days Nesta had stayed in that room, leaving only to relieve herself and bathe in the bathroom down the hall.

              The same girl would bring Nesta her meals, on a wooden tray left outside her door. The simple soup and bread was bland, but she couldn’t find it in her to care about the poor quality of her meals.

              The camp was too noisy. There was no silence to calm her mind, and no alcohol to drink her demons away. The saving grace about her imprisonment was the four locks lining her door. Four locks that were all to similar to the locks that once lined the door of her apartment in Velaris to be coincidental. They looked to have been installed recently too.

              Her window faced the pit where half a dozen young Illyrian girls trained, and Nesta did not believe that was a coincidence either.

              She watched, now, as those six girls hefted large swords in their arms and struggled to spar with their tutors. The day before, they had trained with two twin daggers, and the day before that they were training in hand-to-hand combat.

              Nesta turned away from her window as the girl who brought her meals was thrown into the mud, the warrior leering over her with spittle flying from his lips as he yelled. Nesta faced the dark, bare room that was now her home and longed for the silence of her old residence.

              The room was small, but Nesta found she enjoyed the tight space. There was a small bed against the wall opposite of the window with a closet next to it and a dresser. There was even a small desk and a chair crammed into the corner of the room, covered in books and papers.

              She wasn’t curious enough to snoop through and read them, but from time to time her gaze slid to the desk and its contents and stuck for a few seconds.

              The one thing in the room she had not touched in those three days was the small fireplace.

              On the first night, when the air chilled further and froze her bones, Nesta practically clawed the flint from the green-eyed girl’s hands as she tried to light the wood piled in the fireplace, growling that there would be no fire while she stayed in the house. The girl, with her keen eyes, just left the room as silently as she came and had not tried to light a fire again.

              Unfortunately, the primitive Illyrian bastards did not have faelight, and Nesta had no earthly clue how to create one, nor would she deign to ask Cassian. As a result, she spent her nights shivering under whatever blankets she could find, which was not enough to stave off the cold, and now she had darker bags under her eyes from lack of sleep.

              Not that sleeping was particularly restful anymore. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a decent night’s sleep, even with the assistance of copious amounts of alcohol.

              Without any wine or sex to sate her appetite, Nesta had started eating more, nearly finishing each helping of soup and bread that came twice a day. But her face was still too thin, her cheekbones jutting out and her dresses still hung on her skeletal form.

              But she was eating more. And she figured that was enough for now.

              She felt a thread tied around her heart pull, tugging her back to the window where she could see Cassian emerge from the tree-line, a large buck hanging over his shoulders. He shook with laughter, the buck nearly toppling to the ground, but saved by one of the warriors alongside him. They were all laughing with him.

              Nesta knew Cassian had that affect on those around him. He brought smiles and happiness to everyone in the Circle and in Velaris. While most of the bastard Illyrian’s refused to acknowledge his presence due to his lineage, it was nice to see him getting along with some warriors.

              She clenched her jaw and pushed her thoughts away, instead focusing on the monotonous drone of sparring and wingbeats and numbness. Yet her traitorous eyes tracked the commander as he strutted through the camp and tossed the buck onto a rackety wooden table next to the meat hut, where it would be cleaned and cut before cooking.

              He turned, clapping one of the novices on the back and gesturing to him to start preparing the meat. Then he twisted, his eyes meeting hers from across the clearing. She could see his smile drop and his gaze harden. Nesta felt her heart skip a beat and she hated herself for it.

              She turned away from the thin opening of her window and returned to her bed, cocooning into the blankets.

              But the cold persisted, soaking into her bones. She tried to bring up any anger about her current situation to help heat her blood, but none came. Her mind and body were drained. What once was a great ocean of swirling emotions within her had trickled down into nothing, and she could not find a way to bring that ocean flooding back.

              She was empty and alone.

*****

              Two more days passed and Nesta’s routine remained the same. She would rise from her bed with the morning sun, take a brief trip to the toilet, return to her room and her bed, and lie alone until the girl would knock on her door and leave her lunch in the doorway. Then she would eat and stand at her window, watching. It was around this time that the girls were allowed to train, after finishing their morning chores.

              She would watch Cassian practically push them into the ring, ordering his males to start the lessons. He would observe for nearly half an hour, correcting when needed and pushing when the warrior training them would start to grow lax. Then she would watch as he either joined a fighting ring with his fellow warriors to train or go hunting.

              Sometimes, he would stay in the house and lock himself in one of the rooms. Whatever he did in there made him furious, because after he would emerge he’d throw himself into the sparring rings and pummel anyone who challenged him.

              When the dinner knock came, Nesta would eat in her room alone, again. And when the sun sunk below the horizon, she would lock all four of her locks and lie shivering in her bed. Morning would come again, and the cycle repeated.

              On the sixth day after her arrival in the camp, the girl who brought her food never came. The rest of the camp functioned normally, but the girl did not train with the others. Cassian was still locked away in his study until well after supper, and the girl still made no appearance.

              Nesta ignored the rumbling of hunger in her stomach. She itched to go out and find the girl. Nesta tried to ignore it, but when the sun descending on the mountaintops she unlatched her locks and opened her door.

              She’d developed a routine and it helped keep her grounded. Now that the routine was broken, her tentative grasp at focus was slipping through her fingers.

              She stepped out of her room and walked down the hall towards the sitting room. Her thin dress fluttered with her movements, the rustling mixing with the constant noise. She refused to look towards Cassian’s room, where she somehow _knew_ he was.

              As she neared the front door, she hesitated, her steps slowing until she stopped right before the entrance. Nesta felt the frigid air wafting through the cracks of the door and heard the droning of voices and smelled meat cooking.

              She clenched one fist, cursing her weakness, and used her other hand to grip the door handle and push the door open.

              Nesta stepped out into the freezing air and down the steps leading into the camp for the first time in six days. Thankfully most of the mud had frozen back to dirt. She paused at the foot of the steps and realized she had no clue where to look for the girl. She was being idiotic. Why should she try to find the girl?

              Frozen, she stood near the edge of the camp for a few moments. The warriors were too busy cleaning their weapons or hunting for food to notice her.

              She was a wraith, sheathed in shadows. Her dark gray dress blended in with the darkness as the sun finally sank below the mountains and took its light with it. Countless stars glimmered above her head, each one shining gloriously.

              When Nesta finally moved, a simple step forwards, the fires were lit. She watched as three large bonfires burst with flame and rose, tendrils of fire reaching for the stars themselves. One of the fires was close enough for her to feel its warmth.

              But then there was the crackle of burning wood snapping in the flames.

              The sound echoed in her ears and brought memories of a neck snapping and a man falling.

              Nesta inhaled sharply as her heart quickened. Her breath came in short pants and her chest felt constricted. Her hand clawed at her throat and her nails dug into her skin. The dancing flames trapped her gaze and in the she saw the wicked grin of that infernal King as he marched towards her.

              Her knees buckled, and she crashed into the dirt, staining her dress. She barely registered her surroundings as her memories burned in her mind’s eye.

              Her father, looking at her with tears in his eyes as the King broke his neck, the _sound_ of it reverberating in her own bones. Nesta clawed at her neck and her chest to try and break the tightness she felt strangling her.

              Thankfully she was too entrenched in the shadow of the house to be seen by the warriors, who were busy trying to scrounge food to even notice her struggle.

              But one warrior was not with the crowds around the bonfires. One was just now leaving his study and the house to search for his dinner. And as he stormed out the front door, he nearly tripped over Nesta’s crumpled body.

              Shaking, she heard his voice calling her name through the haze of her memories, through the cracking of wood and neck, but it was not enough. Now she watched as Cassian fell, bleeding and broken, begging for her to escape. She relived the moment she threw her own body over his to shield him as best she could, knowing her death was slowly walking towards her.

              It was his touch on her shoulders that drew her from the flashbacks. His warm hands against her cold skin pulled her back to her own body. She lifted her head slowly, her tear-filled eyes meeting his. The worry and concern in his dark gaze had her snapping back to her reality.

              Cassian was crouched in front of her, his wings wrapping around them protectively, muffling the noise. He had both of his hands on her shoulders and his knees touched hers. His face was too close to her own, and she violently pushed him away and stumbled away until her back met the base of the stairs behind her.

              “Get away from me,” she spat. Cassian remained where he was and slowly lowered his hands, as if she was some wild animal in need of assurances.

              “Nesta, tell me what you need.” His voice was full of desperation. She sneered and rose shakily to her feet. “I don’t need anything from _you_.”

              Cassian mirrored her movements. He stepped towards her, his wings spread wide, blocking out the camp. Growling, Nesta bared her teeth.

              “I have seen this reaction before, from my own soldiers after returning from the battlefield. You don’t have to go through this alone, Nesta.” Her name fell from his lips with such _emotion._

              She hated it.

              “I don’t care what your infernal boy soldiers have done, I don’t care about what you think you know,” a growl rumbled in her throat and she finally felt her rage return. “I don’t care about you or this camp or that Feyre has decided to kick me out of my own family!”

              Chest heaving, she clenched her fists tight enough to draw blood. Cassian just stared at her with concern.

              “You know that is not what she did to you.” He stomped closer, until his face was inches from her own and she could feel the heat of his anger.

              “ _You_ did this. _You_ turned away from us, refused our help. _You_ were the one who pushed Feyre to finally take action,” he paused, his dark eyes burning straight into her soul. “Don’t you forget the kindness she has shown you still, despite your piss poor attitude.”

              Nesta found, for once, that she was speechless. She felt a kernel of something akin to guilt grow inside her, piercing through the anger and the haze. Her eyes were trapped by his and she just stared at him, her walls crumbling.

              “I admit I do not know what you are going through, nor do I know how to help if you keep yourself locked in that damn room every minute of every day, but lashing out at your sisters, who have done nothing to deserve it, is _not_ okay,” his voice shook with anger and frustration.

              “If you want to attack someone, you attack me. I can take it,” he said, his voice softer. Nesta swallowed past the thick lump in her throat and tried to muster an insult. His words struck a chord inside of her. She let herself stare into his eyes for another few heartbeats, then she turned and stormed into the house, slamming the door shut behind her, the force rattling the walls.

              She returned to her room, momentarily forgetting the entire reason she left it. Pacing across the wooden floorboards, she tugged at her dress until she was calm enough to sit on the edge of her bed and stare at the curtains blocking her window.

              For the first time in months, she did not feel numb. It was shame and guilt that wracked her mind now, or at least the memory of it.

              But Nesta did not know what to do with the puddle of emotion in the once barren shores of her soul. Before, she contained a writhing and restless sea, and managed to guide the waves. Then she mastered the emptiness, or at least accepted it.

              But this puddle, this remnant of her old self, she did not know what to do with it. She was no longer the mortal woman who helped her father manage his trade or helped her fae sister plan a war. She was no longer the new Fae female who had spilled from the depths of the Cauldron, who had promised to bring nothing but devastation to Hybern.

              She was no longer the female that threw her own body over another and kissed an Illyrian warrior.

              Those old selves had shattered and burned, their ashes floating away and leaving her bare and desolate and numb.

              As she wrapped her blankets around her shaking body, she sensed his presence at her door. The thread around her heart tightened and pulled, leading towards him.

              But she ignored the pull and tried to let her sleep sweep her away from her memories and her thoughts.

*****

              Cassian knew Nesta kept herself locked away. For the first few days after their arrival in the war camp, he was content to let her just rot. Instead, he focused on his mission: finding those who wanted to rebel against Rhys and the Night Court and squash them like the insects they were.

              Nonviolently, of course.

              While it was Rhys’s hope that Nesta would freeze in the mountains, Feyre believed her sister would somehow help Cassian soothe the aches left after the war. Though Cassian knew Feyre was brilliant beyond measure, far more than he could ever be, there was no way Nesta would choose to _help_ him or the Night Court.

              When he’d emerged from the house and nearly tripped over Nesta, shaking and sobbing on the cold ground, he felt his heart freeze and drop from his chest. The absolute terror he sensed waving from her crumpled form _shattered_ him.

              He had cocooned her within his wings, shielding her from the camp and the Illyrian’s, and tried to ground her back to reality. When he placed his hands on her shoulders and heaved on that connection between them.

              He felt it when she snapped back, the haze clouding her eyes fading away. For those few moments where she gazed at him, her eyes molten steel and her breath fanning across his face, he was reminded of the female who’d thrown herself over him as a shield and kissed him with a gentleness he did not believe he deserved.

              But then the wall of ice and metal closed between them and she’d pushed him away, again.

              While he hated how she refused to let him in or try, the one good thing to come from her breakdown was knowledge. Now Cassian had a better idea of what haunted her, and how the events of the war tormented her.

              Rhys had sent her to the mountains to fade into nothingness, but Cassian brought her to help put the shattered pieces back together.

              A plan began to form in his mind, a pathway to help bring Nesta from the pit of despair she was trapped in. Oh, she would hate him, but that was fine by him. He knew he could never force her to try again and that she had to decide to do it herself, for her own sake. Cassian just wanted her…

              Wanted her healed.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***There's mention of rape and abuse towards the end of this chapter, but nothing explicit or described***

              When morning came, Nesta was already wide awake. In the few moments during the night she managed to find sleep, her nightmares terrorized her awake. She rose and ignored the hunger pains in her stomach.

              She bathed quickly, through the flashbacks brought to the forefront of her mind, sparing a few moments to stare at the thin red lines on the skin of her neck and chest, a temporary reminder of the events of last night, and of her fae healing abilities. In a few hours, the marks would likely be gone, as if they were never there in the first place.

              She chose one of her high collared gowns, a dull warm gray, and took a moment to pull at the baggy fabric as it hung on her too-thin body. Once she was dressed and her hair was fixed, she strode from her room, determined. She had one task today that she devoted all her attention and energy on. She would find the green-eyed girl and ask why she had the nerve to break Nesta’s precious routine, then she would find something to eat.

              She felt another sting of hunger, and decided she would find something to eat first, then find the girl. All the while, hopefully, never running into Cassian. Luckily, she happened across a loaf of bread and a jar of berry jam in the kitchen, and there was no sign of the brute.

              So far everything was going to plan. Once she finished eating, she left the house and braced the freezing outside air. She was a wraith in this camp, passing through shadows unseen and hiding in the darkness and pulling it around her like a protective cloak. But this was the first time she had left the safety of her room, of the house, since her arrival.

She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin proudly as the warriors glanced over at her before returning to their daily tasks.

              At least _they_ had an unbroken daily routine.

              As she walked through the camp, moving towards the pit where the girls trained, one of the Illyrian brutes moved to stand directly in front of her, one hand on the hilt of his sword and his wings flaring threateningly.

              She maintained her bored aura and moved to walk around the warrior, only to have him move to block her again.

              She fixed him with a glare that sent most males running, but the brute just snarled and maintained his position.

              “Where do you think you’re going, witch?” He asked. Nesta raised a single brow, surprised this male had the balls to even speak to her. The fires of her rage sparked but fizzled away before she could fan the flames and use the inferno she knew once burned inside of her to turn this male to ash in the wind.

              “My actions are none of your business,” she growled, her chin raising defiantly. The warrior bared his teeth. “That low born bastard might like you warming his bed, but that does not mean you get to wander as you please, bitch.”

              Ice filled her veins. She recognized this Illyrian asshole now; he was the warrior who spat in the young girl’s face the other day and slammed her into the mud.

              She tilted her head, a predator analyzing its prey. Her body stilled, and she felt an ancient dark power rise within her. The male kept spewing pretentious fae male nonsense, but she was too far gone to hear anything but the buzz of an insect.

              An insect in need of squashing.

              She dived into that well of power opening within her, letting the darkness swallow her whole.

              She was in the Cauldron again, drowning in those dark waters _again_. She could feel the power soaking into every fiber of her being, the same power that strengthened her malnourished body now.

              That deadly force rose, nearing its crescendo. Death knocked against her inner walls, longing to be set free and punish this fly that dared to speak to her, but before she could let the flood flow free, a massive presence appeared behind her.

              “I will only say this once, if you want to keep your tongue, you better shut your damned mouth right now, or I will let Nesta unleash her power on you. We still aren’t sure what she stole from the Cauldron, but I, for one, would _love_ to find out.”

              Cassian was there, his red-hot anger filling the air and warming her back. His voice was steady, but she sensed his fury. He must have followed her, the bastard.

              His presence warmed her back, and she could see him in her mind’s eye: looming behind her, wings spread wide and the promise of suffering burning in the depths of his dark eyes. A small part of her purred at Cassian’s display of strength.

The male just sniggered and opened his idiotic maw to spew more nonsense when Nesta took one step towards the male, Cassian hovering behind her in support.

“I suggest-” she lifted a hand and sunk her claw into the leather on his chest, her nail pressing into the male’s chest, “that you take your _Commander’s_ advice.”

              The dark power swirling inside her twisted, pooling in the finger she had stabbing into the male’s chest. She let a sliver of that power pulse from her skin and stab into the male, satisfaction filling her when he paled and staggered back, falling over his feet and tumbling to the ground with a grunt.

              Nesta straightened her spine and shoulders and bared her teeth at the male cowering before her. Cassian hummed appreciatively from behind her. Nesta took a step to the side and continued past the male, who fearfully jerked away from the tail of her dress as it brushed against his arm.

              She heard Cassian kick the male and growl something down at him before following behind her. Nesta chose to ignore him and kept walking towards the pit where the young females trained.

              “Nesta,” Cassian called, the soft sound of her name from his lips sending a wave of raw emotion tumbling through her before being absorbed by the numbness. The embers of the anger that festered inside of her when the male tried to speak to her dimmed, letting the haze of emptiness return. Nesta tried to grab the fury and power that raged within her just moments ago, but the fog overtook everything and pulled it from her grasp.

              “Nesta, damnit, wait a second,” Cassian called again, the sound of his footsteps growing closer. She maintained her air of cold indifference, as usual, and ignored him as he jogged to catch up to her. “Where in the hell are you going?”

              She inhaled sharply, letting the stinging cold air fill her lungs. She came to an abrupt stop near the edge of the fighting pit and whirled on the male following her.         

              “Leave me the hell alone. Just because _your_ High Lady told you to bring me here does not give you any authority over me or my actions,” she spat. Cassian _rolled_ his eyes.

              “Stop putting ridiculous ideas in your head. The only one with any authority over your actions is yourself.” His wings flared wide, then rustled and folded closed again. “I asked them to let you come here because I knew you _had_ to get out of Velaris, of that blasted apartment and those who reminded you of the war.”

              Nesta clenched her jaw but allowed him to continue and made no move to stop listening.

              “I hope this place, these mountains I call home, will bring you peace.” Cassian’s face turned to the mountains surrounding them and his expression softened. Then he looked at her again and that gentleness vanished, replaced by hard determination. “I also need your help. But I won’t ask for it until you decide you want to give it to me, of your own free will.”

              She wondered briefly, what Cassian could possibly need her help for. Nesta fixed her blank stare at the male, two instincts at war within her. When one won out, she cursed her weakness again.       

              “The girl,” she said, and Cassian looked at her in confusion. “The girl who brings me food. She never came yesterday.”

              Realization dawned on his handsome face. “You mean Diana. I was not aware of her absence.”

              He turned toward the training pit, his jaw clenching. “I had heard that the male you just encountered was being _difficult,_ especially with the females training.”

              Cassian paced along the edge of the pit. He bared his teeth and growled, “Morcant is a new male in this camp, having rose through the ranks farther north, and I let him come here after the Solstice to keep an eye on him. I never imagined he would-” He broke off and glared back to where the male was standing and talking with a group of novice warriors.

              Nesta could feel his animosity, and she briefly wondered why Cassian cared so much about the Illyrians, when she knew they’d done nothing to deserve it.

              “Where would she be?” She asked, deciding to just focus on the one task she set for herself. Just the one thing to accomplish before she would return to her room, her routine, and try to find silence to rest in.

              Cassian slowly peeled his steely gaze from Morcant and nodded towards a tent on the outskirts of the campsite. “The females spend their time there.”

              Nesta did not thank him. She turned and started walking towards the ramshackle canvas tent, grimacing when her slipper stuck in a patch of mud and peeled away with a wet slap. Cursing, she slid her now dirty bare foot back into the mud-soaked slipper and continued on her path.

              Unfortunately, the brute decided to follow her.

              “You can return to your little sparring matches, I know how you like to try and feel important among these creatures,” she said, refusing to look at him anymore.

              “Well believe it or not but I do not revolve around you. I’m going to see for myself what happened to a girl I genuinely believe will be a great warrior and might give me a run for my money one day. I’m responsible for those girls,” he retorted. She could practically feel his eyes roll.

              They stormed off in time with each other, ignoring the other at every step. By the time they reached the tent, each bristled with anger and annoyance.

              Nesta was the first to enter. The faces of the young Illyrian girls and a few older females, the scars on their wings catching her attention. She’d seen similar scars along Cassian’s wings, when she was first brought to Velaris after being _Made._

              “Lord Cassian,” one of the girls said, lowering her head respectfully. Cassian chuckled and knelt to be eye level with the girl.

              “Celene, how many times do I have to tell you to just call me Cassian,” he teased, pulling at one of her braids. The girl giggled and batted his hand away. “At least once more.”

              Nesta watched as Cassian greeted each of the girls by name, asking them about how their training was going. A few groaned and complained about the exercise. She watched as he approached the elder females, who were working a simple loom, the beginnings of a checkered blanket spread through the wooden slats. One female manned the pedals, another organized the thread in the layers, and another was untangling the balls of thread.

              One of the girls, Celene, dropped the armor she was repairing to hop over to Nesta with a wild grin. “Is it true that you’re the _witch_?”

              Nesta looked down at the girl and felt her lips twitch. Cassian was too distracted by the other girls’ questions to notice. She overheard a youngling ask how he hid his daggers, and another ask him what the best place was to strike a male.

              “Who told you I was a witch?” Nesta asked. Celene shrugged and said she’d heard the rumors spreading through the camp while she was working on her chores.

              “And if I was a witch, what would you think?” Nesta asked, and she found she was holding her breath while she waited for the girl to answer. A wave of insecurity washed over her as she waited for the girl to answer. Celene bit her lip and hummed as she pondered the question. Nesta could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

              “Are you as strong as they say?” the girl asked, fixing Nesta with her dark, intelligent eyes. Nesta shrugged and answered, “Everyone says I _should_ be strong.”

              Nesta swallowed past a lump rising in her throat as a vast chasm of vulnerability opened inside of her, parting the haze of emptiness, and she couldn’t decide if that was any better. She was _supposed_ to be strong, with the power of the cauldron dwelling inside of her. Nesta never felt strong, not anymore. If she was strong, she could have protected her father and Cas-

              Nesta didn’t let herself finish that thought.

              “If I was strong, like you, I’d protect my friends and hunt for us and make sure we get to have sweet bread at least once a week,” Celene said with a toothy grin. The corner of Nesta’s mouth lifted and she nodded, lost in thought. Cassian was talking to the elder females, one with a gash on her forehead and bruises around her neck holding her head in shame.

              “I think you’d make a wonderful witch, much better than me. You could eat these males alive,” Nesta said, making Celene’s grin grow. The girl looked at Nesta, suddenly somber, then reached into her pocket and grabbed a handful of crushed bread crumbs. The girl grabbed Nesta’s hand and placed the bread into her palm.

              “When my brother came back from the war, he had the same eyes that you do. He was lost and alone, and I think you are too.” Celene closed Nesta’s fist around the bread. Nesta’s heart had stopped cold in her chest and ice slowly creeped through her veins, her body frozen. “This is my last piece of our sweet bread, but I think you need it more than me.”

              Nesta’s mouth was dry and her throat suddenly hoarse. The chasm of emotions she could not remember the names of widened, and she felt a trickle of her old self return at the memory of a girl, around the same age as Celene, bringing home a dead rabbit for the first time with the widest grin on her face, but fear and shame in her eyes.

              “Where’s your brother?” Nesta asked. Celene pulled away, her innocent eyes filling with a well of sorrow a young girl should never have to wade through.

              “One day he walked into the forest, and never returned.” Celene’s eyes went blank, memories filling her thoughts. The girl blinked past her tears and jutted out her chin, the motion achingly familiar.

              When Nesta’s mother died, she wore the same expression as strangers would wish her family condolences and stare at the three young sisters with pity. If she had to put a date to when her heart hardened, and she built the walls between her and the rest of the world, her mother’s funeral would have to be it, as she watched her mother’s corpse drop into a grave.

              Celene muttered a polite goodbye, then returned to repairing armor with the other girls. Nesta watched the girl work for a few moments, lost in memory and guilt. She too had watched her sister disappear into the forest, for years. Doing nothing but waiting as Feyre kept them alive by the skin of her teeth. Countless times, as the sun would set, Nesta would think her sister dead in a ditch being eaten by wolves, and each time her sister proved her wrong.

              Until one day something followed her back from the woods. Until one night, that bastard High Lord _stole_ her little sister away. And still Nesta did nothing. That night, when Feyre disappeared with that fae bastard, Nesta decided she was done doing nothing, and that determination to keep moving followed her across Prythian, into the Cauldron and a strange war in a stranger land. Until the day her father died, and all of her drive melted away.

              Breathing heavily, she dug her nails into her palms and tried to regain a sense of control, of balance. Now, as the waves of shame and regret and self-hatred battered at her mind, she longed for the fog to return, to numb these _emotions_ and this pain.

              She absentmindedly wandered closer to Cassian, and the females he was talking to, catching the last part of their conversation.

              “-sometimes wanders off, but we haven’t been able to find her, and she’s never been gone this long.” A female, the one with the bruises marring her neck, said with real fear in her eyes. Nesta could see Cassian’s jaw clenching and feel the heat of his fury washing over her as she stood beside him.

              “Why didn’t you try to keep a better eye on her then?” The harsh words burst from Nesta’s lips before she could think about stopping them and hung suspended in the thick tension in the air. Cassian stilled, and Nesta felt a wave of unease. Who was she to judge this female, who lived in such a harsh and male-dominated society?

              _“Know that I have not forgiven you for how you treated my mate, your_ sister. _”_

 _“_ You _did this_. You _turned away from us, refused our help._ You _were the one who pushed Feyre to finally take action.”_

The female lowered her head submissively and said nothing. Nesta wished she could apologize, could know _how_ to even say those two words, but she’d never been a person who easily apologized for her actions and that had not changed, despite everything.

              “Thank you, ladies, for your time. I will find Diana and bring her back.” Cassian promised, bowing and stalking from the tent with a tense rustling of his wings. She hurried after him, barely feeling the freezing wind nipping at her exposed skin. She was so focused on her own internal battles that she didn’t see the patch of mud and rainwater in her path, and as her feet sank down to the ankle in the pit of muck, she lost her balance and tumbled forwards.

              Her arms flew out in front of her to grab onto something, anything, to stop her fall. Her fingers latched onto something soft and leathery, but she was falling too fast to stop on her own. Her ankle twisted painfully as she fell, a soft pained gasp falling from her lips.

              Then warm hands grabbed her shoulders, digging into her skin and holding her suspended above the ground right before her face crashed into the mud. Cassian pulled her to her feet and she leaned on him as she pulled her foot from the ditch, losing her slipper to the damned puddle.

              “You can let me go now, I’m fine,” she said, pulling away from him with a sharp movement, her eyes averted. Cassian let loose a tired sigh and lifted his hands in defeat before starting to walk away. Nesta pursed her lips, chapped skin chafing against each other, and carefully set her injured foot down. Pain pulsed up her leg and she grimaced. Cassian was walking away, no doubt to search for the girl, which meant she had to follow.

              With one mud-soaked slipper.

              “Cassian,” she called, cursing at the way her voice seemed to caress his name as it left her lips. He paused, fists clenching at his sides, and turned to face her, his gaze scanning her from her bare foot to the loose strands of hair pulled from her crowned plait by the wind.

              Nesta opened her mouth to speak, then grimaced and swallowed thickly. “I need new shoes.”

              Cassian just nodded, understanding in his dark eyes. He nodded towards the house, perched on the edge of the camp, and gestured for her to follow him. With a twist of her lips and a quietly muttered curse, Nesta limped after him. Her ankle was throbbing in pain and the mud and grass on her bare, frozen foot weren’t helping matters. She’d be damned if she ever admitted she needed help, especially to Cassian.

              She gritted her teeth and walked as normally as she could, noting that Cassian, though still far ahead of her, had slowed his pace so she wasn’t falling too far behind. She would’ve said something, some scathing remark that her old self could have spat, but she was grateful. For once, she was happy to have quick fae healing abilities, which would likely heal her ankle in a few hours.

              By the time they made it to the house, her feet were numb, and she stumbled up the stairs and into the doorway. Cassian disappeared into his office and Nesta collapsed onto a chair near the dark fireplace. She rubbed her temples, already feeling a headache forming between her eyes, and let out a pained sigh.

              The fog was still there but lessened somehow. She still did not know what to do with whatever echoes of emotion she was feeling, but they were there and that was…different.

              She knew the numbness she’d felt for months, drowning in sex and booze, was not normal. She knew the emptiness would slowly eat her away, piece by piece until there was nothing left. It didn’t matter at the time, because she did not care, could not. She couldn’t remember how to care for herself and didn’t really want to.

              But now, with the girl missing and a purpose flickering inside of her again, she wondered if fading away in this house was the only option. Perhaps there was a way to help these females, who suffered so terribly, and find a way to live again.

              Her train of thought was cut off as Cassian stomped back into the parlor, boots clacking heavily against the wooden floor. Nesta did not raise her head or open her eyes as he approached and kept her body still. The hand at her face shook slightly, from the cold or her own insecurities. There was a thump as he dropped something heavy at her feet and she peered through her fingers to see heavy boots and dark leathers at her feet.

              “It’s a miracle that you haven’t frozen to death thus far, but these will help.” He pointed to the leathers, so similar to the ones she wore so long ago. She swallowed and glanced up at him from behind her hand, eyes following the tense line of his jaw and the lines of his neck and shoulders.

              Hissing, she grabbed the leathers and the boots and limped to her room, brushing past Cassian, the brief skim of her arm against his sending a warm tingle dancing across her skin. Flushing, she muttered curses as she went into her room and changed.

              They were not the same leathers from before, not as thick and protective but still warmer than her thin dresses. The lines on her neck were a faint pink now. Nesta buttoned the thick cotton blouse, tucking it into her trousers, and then buttoned the vest around her torso. Even with the tightest buttons, the vest was still loose and slid around her body with ease. Thankfully Cassian stuffed a pair of thick woolen socks into the boots, the thick and warm fabric providing quick relief for her aching, frozen toes.

              She glanced at herself in the mirror and was surprised to feel more at ease in the strange, tight clothes. She did not mind wearing the trousers, though Elain would be mortified at the thought of having her legs so exposed. She could move easier in them with no bulky fabric getting in the way. The boots rose to her calves, the thick leather warming her freezing toes and holding her aching ankle in place.

              The thick cotton blouse was a dark muted blue, matching the buttons of her vest. There was no way Cassian just happened to find these clothes. They were meant for her, tailored to her height and size, despite her weight loss. While she was annoyed he even kept these clothes in the house, as if knowing she would need them, she was grateful for the comfort and warmth they provided. Color stained her cheeks and there was a light in her eyes that hadn’t been there for months.

 

              She brushed a lock of loose hair from her face and turned away from the mirror. She looked different. Healthier. While she was still too thin, the thicker leather hid her boney shoulders and poking ribs.

              Nesta strolled from her room with her head held high, the pain in her ankle not as bad now that it was tightly bound in her boot. Cassian rolled his gaze up her body, from the boots to the loose hairs framing her face, then nodded his approval.

              “Now you look more like an Illyrian,” He teased with a crooked smile. Nesta snarled. “Don’t we have work to do?”

              With a grin, he followed her from the manor house, his wings curling closer to his body as the cold wind swept through the camp. Nesta paused at the base of the front steps, arms crossing over her chest and waited for Cassian to reveal what he learned about the girl, Diana.

              Cassian mirrored her motions, a smirk pulling at his mouth as he stood in front of her, waiting. Nesta just stared into his hazel eyes, mentally stabbing him with her gaze. Cassian stared right back and raised a brow. Her lips curled in disgust as his smile grew and they stood in silence, daring the other to make the first move.

              He seemed happier than usual, his smile unrestrained for the first time in months. She could practically smell his glee as she held his gaze. Nesta would not ask where he wanted to start searching for the girl or ask for anything else. She’d already stooped low enough to practically beg him for clothes. Cassian seemed to sense her resolve, and after a few more moments of staring at her he turned towards the training pits and said, “I was told that Diana had an argument with one of our new novice’s.”

              “Over?” Nesta asked, walking beside him as they strolled toward the fighting pits.

              “He tried to touch her, and she beat his ass into the ground,” Cassian said proudly. Nesta hummed her approval. These young Illyrian females had more bite than she thought. Though she supposed she should have expected as much, watching them train every day from her window.

              Cassian led the way through the camp, nodding in greeting to a few warriors as they passed. They walked past the training pits and various tents, headed toward the southernmost edge of the war camp. Nesta found herself staring more at Cassian’s wings than her surroundings, choosing to ignore the snickers from some of the older warriors and the glares sent her way.

              His wings were drawn in close to his body, folded tight to retain warmth. She could still see the scars lining the dark leathery skin. Scars she vividly remembered being inflicted. On two separate occasions. She blinked away the memories as they pierced through the fog inside of her, choosing to focus on the way his shoulder and back muscles moved beneath the tight shirt he wore as his wings moved.

              She was so caught up in blatantly staring at his back and his wings that she nearly ran into him when he stopped near a ramshackle tent. He turned his head to stare at her with a smirk and a raised brow, “Is something distracting you, _sweetheart_?”

              Nesta growled and sneered, folding her arms across her chest and turning away from him as a flush crawled up her neck. “I assume this is where the novice lives?”

              “It is where most novices _fight_ to live. These tents, these shelters, are won through proving your strength.” He said as he pulled aside the front flap and stepped into the dark tent. Before Nesta could follow, he shot back out, wings flaring and eyes burning with anger. Nesta’s nostrils flared as the wind picked up the scent hiding inside the tent, the stench of fear and death filling her sensitive nose.

              Stiffening she waited as Cassian stood at the entrance to the tent, the two siphons on his gauntlets flashing and pulsing with red energy.

              “Cassian,” she stated, waiting for him to tell her what he saw, why the tent smelled of death and blood. But the Illyrian male just gritted his teeth, a rumbling growl echoing from his chest.

              “Go back to the house and _wait_ for me there,” he snarled. His wings spread wide, his siphons glowing brighter, and he shot up into the sky, the pulse of air from his wings pushing her back a few steps. Cursing, she ran a hand through her messy windblown hair. A cold wind rustled the entrance into the tent, whispering for her to go look inside.

              _Come see, look at what has been done_. The wind seemed to say, the cold piercing through her thick new clothes and pushing her towards the tent. The sounds of the bustling war camp faded away as she pulled back the canvas flap, the rancid scent filling her nose once again.

              At first, she couldn’t see anything in the darkness, but then her fae eyes adjusted and she could see _everything._

              There was blood puddled on the ground and splattered on the inner walls of the tent. Her eyes followed the streaked path to the far back of the tent, where she could see small feet peeking from beneath a blood-soaked blanket.

              She inhaled sharply and entered the tent. She knelt by the blanket, and the small form hiding beneath it, already knowing what she would find. Nesta pulled the blanket away, the wet fabric landing with a slap in the corner of her vision. Her breath left her lungs with a gasp. Her hands shook as she brushed a bloody mat of hair from a young girl’s face, revealing blank green eyes, staring into nothingness.

              She did not look at the rest of the girl’s body, already smelling what had been done to her, and not just by one monster. She stood, fists clenching at her sides, and stared at the lines of light reaching into the tent, golden rays of sun caressing the young female’s body as if saying goodbye.

              She felt it, then. The rage. The grief. The guilt. Everything she had bottled up, had refused to acknowledge, came bubbling to the surface. She stared down into the girl’s dead emerald eyes, the wind beating against the canvas tent.

              Slap. Slap. Slap.

              This girl never had the chance to live. She died in fear and alone.

              Nesta was _drowning_. Drowning in the sea of raw emotions flowing inside of her, pushing the haze away and violently rolling through her body.

              Slap. Slap. Slap.

              The wind kept beating at the tent, growing stronger with each breath she took. The air grew colder, her breath fogging from her lips. She felt _something_ building with each beat of her heart, something ancient and primal.

              She’d felt the same thing, back during the war when she blasted Hybern’s army with a wave of pure power. That power curled from her chest, pumping with her blood and filling her with strength. Nesta hissed as the power whispered vengeance, whispered _justice_.

              The wind howled, screaming at her to take action and mourning the loss of an innocent.

              Slap. Slap. Slap.

              The sunlight faded away and shadows filled the tent, her rage rising with each beat of the wind. Nesta felt the power inside of her purr as her fury grew, as the promise of destruction cemented inside her heart. That power inside of her _needed_ to be released. The pressure kept rising and rising alongside her anger and regret.

              _Slap. Slap. Slap._

              Nesta was a storm. She would not be weathered, not be survived or endured. She would become destruction and death. She was vengeance. She would avenge this girl and those who came before her. The cold icy anger inside of her froze her bones and chilled her blood.

              She felt the power coil inside of her, ready to strike, and for the first time in months, she reached into its dark depths and asked for its help. She knew this power was born from the Cauldron, far more ancient than anything in the world.

              She knew this power would use her, just as she would use it, but she didn’t care anymore. If she needed it to be strong, to become death, then so be it. Nesta reached down into that magic inside of her and pulled at every last scrap of it, using it to fill her cells until it shone from her skin and the force of her power rustled the few objects in the tent. The slapping of the canvas became thunder in her ears.

              Her eyes shone with predatory light as her power filled every fiber of her being. Nesta bared her teeth and turned her face to the entrance to the tent. Nesta let the scent of death fuel her rage, let the image of the broken body of a small girl fill her mind. She let her power freeze every last bit of her, until her rage climaxed, and she _shattered_.

              The tent exploded, dissolving away in the brute force of her power. She could hear cries of alarm but finding the monsters who committed such a grievous crime was all that mattered. Nesta screamed a warrior’s cry and let her power wash over the war camp and the woods and the mountains, her cry a warning and a promise.

              She would find those she sought, and they would feel her vengeance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading and please don't forget to let me know what you think!


	3. III

III

              Cassian knew what happened to most young, attractive females in any Illyrian campsite. He’d heard the stories, heard the screams in his youth. He knew what happened to his mother. It was foolish to think that he could change centuries of encouraged and overlooked abuse in a few decades. Hell, it was arrogant to assume he had that power.

              But he’d always hoped. Hoped for a brighter future for the females of his species, for a better future his mother would never see. Together, with Rhys and Azriel he worked and worked to change a culture embedded in its ways. For the briefest of years, he assumed he’d made progress. There were no more screams, no more dead females thrown away like garbage. It was an important step, but a small one.

              He was foolish to believe he’d been the one to change his fellow Illyrians.

              Foolish to believe he’d seen the last drop of innocent blood spilled within his own home.

              Foolish to believe Nesta would listen to him and foolish to leave her alone.          

When Cassian saw what those bastards did to little Diana, when he _smelled_ what they did, he felt only overwhelming fury. He barely saw Nesta as he burst from the tent and ordered her to return to the house before shooting up into the air. He should have known that she wouldn’t listen to him, would look into that tent.

              He just never expected her to explode in a storm of ice and wind and death.

              He knew something was wrong as he was speeding towards the fighting pits, seconds after taking off, when the wind changed without warning. He was nearly blown into the woods as a violent gust of wind blew from where he just left. He made the mistake of waving away his curiosity on why the wind changed so drastically, sudden bursts of air shooting him higher into the sky one minute then sending him plummeting toward the ground in another.

              He was too focused on his anger and finding the bastards responsible for Diana’s death to sense Nesta’s raging aura. Guilt clawed up his chest and closed his throat, the image of her small feet peeking from beneath a blood-soaked blanket clouding his mind.

              As he soared down to the training pits, where he could see some of the newer novices laughing together as they trained, his red-hot rage was cooled by a piercing wave of freezing air. Cassian knew that cold, had sensed it in Nesta last night, and when she released her power on Hybern’s army. 

              He turned, flapping his wings to maintain his position despite the strange curling pockets of air. It had only been about thirty seconds since he left Nesta, but that was long enough. Long enough for her to see what happened.

              He found the tent on the edge of the camp and watched as it exploded and dissipated into dust. Another violent gust of wind sent him tumbling through the air, his wings flaring wildly as he tried to regain control.

              An intense cold aura filled the air, the wave of pure power pulsing through the camp and the mountains. Cassian cursed again, mostly at himself for leaving her alone. Of course, she wouldn’t have listened to him and gone in to look for herself. He would never have expected this violent of a reaction, otherwise he would have stayed with her.

              “Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered, turning and hurtling towards her form. She was encased in darkness, the dust from the tent curling around her with the wind. Even from where he flew, suspended in the air, he could see the ancient power shining through her eyes, the same light from when she tried to attack Hybern’s king.

              He landed, stumbling across the ground as the wind buffeted his wings, and cursed again as he was blown through a tent and crashed to the ground.         

              So, this intense wind thing was new.

              Cassian detangled himself from the tent and rose to his feet. He could feel the intensity of her power, raw and unfettered, pulsing in the air as she let loose an ear shattering cry that sounded like it did not belong to this world. The scream rattled his bones and pierced through his soul, an echo of her voice mirrored inside of him. He could _feel_ her rage as her magic lashed out and battered the war camp.

              He was a Cauldron-damned idiot, leaving her alone to see _that,_ especially knowing her history. Cursing under his breath, he waded through the debris surrounding Nesta. He was close enough to see her eyes glowing with golden light, and a soft glow emanating from her pale skin as her strange stolen magic revealed itself.

              Another wave of pure magic pulsed from her body, sending him sliding across the ground and another tent in the vicinity crumbling to dust in the wind. His siphons flared, and a protective shield encased his body, his instincts taking over. He held his ground as she grew closer, her power pummeling his red shields.

              “Nesta, sweetheart,” he shouted over the wind. Nesta just growled, any trace of her conscious self buried beneath something ancient and primal. His siphons flared again, and he felt the killing power inside of him coil, ready to strike against the threat before him. Cassian shoved those instincts away and focused on Nesta.

              She was devastating. Her hair had come loose and fell over her shoulders and down her back, the locks flying in the wind. She always had an angular and unique face, which was now emphasized by her malnourishment and the dark shadows of sleepless nights. The dark clothes he had given her contrasted against her pale skin and the glow now emanating from her. Wind caressed her skin and brushed away anything in her path, almost lovingly. The wind howled, the sound almost a lamenting cry.

              He remembered, when Hybern nearly killed him for the second time, when Nesta released the power inside of her and misted _legions_. He was a bit unhappy that her chaotic power was now targeting his war camp but thrilled that she’d reached for it. Feyre had asked him to help Nesta, especially regarding controlling the strange powers she possessed. Cassian knew all to well what it was like to have so much power seeping through every pore that it felt like you were drowning.

              Another wave of her magic battered his shield, the two siphons he bore on his gauntlets buckling under her strength.

              “For fucks sake, Nesta, it’s me!” He screamed. She turned her face towards him with a predatory slowness that chilled his blood. He knew he shouldn’t, but a gleeful smile lit his face as he watched her. The fae part of him relished in her strength and longed to join her in wreaking such wonderful chaos.

              “They deserve to feel my wrath,” she hissed, her voice low and guttural. Cassian clenched his jaw and took another few steps closer to her. Nesta snarled as he grew closer but made no move to attack. She was still standing near the blasted tent, a blood-soaked blanket covering a corpse unaffected by her outburst.

              “They do, and they will. But you’re losing control,” he said calmly, raising his hands almost in surrender. The light shining through her eyes flickered and he saw her sorrow and grief piercing through.

              “She was so small,” she said, her voice breaking. Cassian grimaced and nodded. “She did not deserve that, and those males _will_ pay.”

              “They will die by my hand, for I am _vengeance_.” Nesta bared her teeth and looked toward the fighting pits. She lifted a hand and the wind stilled, the dust and debris falling to the ground. Cassian froze. He sensed the might of her power being focused on those pits, ready to destroy the camp and even the mountains surrounding them.

              “Nesta!” He screamed, but she refused to look at him. He watched as the light in her eyes intensified and waves of light and magic swirled around her outstretched hand.

              “The girls are training!” He shouted, walking closer. He saw her hand shake at his words and the power focused within it falter. “Nesta, I _know_. I know how you’re feeling, but you _need_ to listen to me for once in your damned life.”

              She met his gaze, her hand still pointed toward the pits and all those within them.

              “I don’t want to feel this, all of this _pain_ ,” she whispered. His heart broke for her in that moment. He knew she was drowning in her pain, refusing to acknowledge or go through it. He wished she would let him help her wade through it all, but Nesta was the most stubborn female in all of Prythian.

              “I know, sweetheart,” he said. He was standing right in front of her now and he slowly moved in front of her deadly hand and the path of destruction she would cause. He saw a flicker of fear flash over her features before being swallowed by a pained expression.

              “If you come with me, we will find them, and they will be punished. I will help you train and control this power, if you wish,” he said, moving closer so that her palm pressed against his chest. He felt her hand shake against him and he reached up to clasp her warm hand in his. His thumbs stroked her wrist and he stared into her eyes and waited.

              “It’s too much,” she sobbed, the light shining within her flickering. “I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to swim in this ocean.”

              “I’ll help you.” He brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed her palm. He saw her shudder and felt her magic calm. She brought her free hand to cup her face and stepped closer to him, her knees shaking and giving out.

              Cassian caught her, holding her up by her elbows. Her forehead pressed against his shoulder, her nose turning into his neck. Cassian shivered as her cold breath fanned across his skin but remained still. When she could stand, he released his hold on her even though she kept leaning against him.

              He held his hands at his sides, knowing that if he touched her again or startled her, she could spiral and lose control again. He stood, humming a low melody, and waited. They stood together, Nesta leaning on his shoulder, for a few long moments. He turned his chin and gently touched the top of her head, trying to reassure her. His heart sang at their closeness, relishing in her scent and her touch.

              He felt it when her body stiffened right before she pushed away, turning away from him. Cassian bit back his frustration. He knew she would hate seeking any kind of comfort, would think herself weak for losing control and revealing so much of her pain. So, he let her be, and waited. He could be patient.

 

*****

 

              Nesta did not know what to do. The power was still swirling inside of her alongside her rage, waiting to be unleashed. Magic prickled across her skin and beat alongside her heart. It was different from before, when she’d released every last scrap of power she could muster at Hybern. This time, the magic remained. For so long she ignored and compressed the strange power inside of her. If it couldn’t save her father or kill an evil king, what good was it?

              She hated her weakness with Cassian. When he stepped in front of her hand and the deadly power within it, she felt like she fell apart. She could barely remember what happened after she lost control, after she shattered. Everything she saw was blurred and everything she heard muted. Until Cassian called her name and stepped in front of her.

              The haze was gone, banished by her internal explosion. She felt _everything._ All the pain and grief and guilt. For a moment she wished she was still standing in Cassian’s warm arms, but only for a moment.

              She decided to push away the grief and confusion and focus on her anger. Her anger towards the bastard Illyrian warriors who decided to rape a young girl and murder her. She whirled around to face Cassian, the power thrumming under her skin and vibrating in her bones.

              “Where?” She asked, her voice a low growl. Cassian just stared into her eyes for a quiet moment, his wings fluttering in the brief wave of wind that tousled her hair.

              “Follow me.” Cassian turned and stalked toward the training pits, where most of the warriors would be gathered at this time of day. From their position, they could hear shouts of alarm and weapons clanging and boots stomping in the mud.

              The Illyrians were undoubtedly marching towards them with their blades sharpened and arrows nocked after her display of power. From her experience in Cassian’s home culture, the warriors seemed to lean more towards “attack now, ask questions later.”

              She did not care. She had vengeance to wreak, and if she had to go through every damned Illyrian male in this loud, damned camp, then so be it. A growl built low in her chest and rumbled up her throat as a line of warriors rounded a corner around a line of tents with silver blades glinting against the sun light. They halted almost thirty feet away when they saw Cassian, siphons gleaming and flickering, standing before them with eyes of blazing fury and Nesta shining by his side.

              That strange power inside of her hummed as the warriors bristled and tightened their grips on their weapons. She stepped forwards so that she was next to Cassian and could feel the heat of his fury wash over her cool skin.

              “Cassian, what is the meaning of this?” An elder male asked, stepping in front of the defensive line.

              “A grave crime has been committed.” He snarled, red energy flaring from his siphons and carving into the earth. She watched as a few of the warriors blanched, some even sliding their feet back and dropping into a defensive stance. These foolish males truly did not respect Cassian as their commander.

              “Bring me the males who did this,” Nesta growled, pointing behind her to the bloody blanket and the child’s corpse beneath it. There were too many scents for her to sniff out the specific males who’d left their stink in the carnage of that tent.

              She watched as some of the males craned their necks and grimaced at the sight, but a few smirked. Cassian’s wings flared, and he slowly drew his blade as he stalked toward the line of warriors. Nesta remained frozen to the spot, guarding the corpse of Diana.

              “You better listen to the lady,” Cassian said. The older male curled his lips in disgust but lowered his head as Cassian approached.

              “The death of a youngling is always a tragedy, but how does this female warrant such rage?” The male asked, snickers echoing from the males around him. The wind swept through the camp again as Nesta’s wrath increased.

              “Did you think my words were merely a suggestion?” Cassian asked, turning his blade in his hands. The male sneered but remained silent. Nesta turned her head and clenched her jaw.

              Wind curled around her, carrying the scent of a specific male towards her. The scent that had reeked in the air of that tent, reeked over the body of the girl.

              A blast of energy pulsed from her, sending a wave of air blasting through the camp. She could see Cassian turn slightly towards her, his siphons flashing in answer to her magic. She let the ichor in her veins thicken and fill her with its glorious fury.

              The wind that had been battering the camp since her outburst calmed and the air stilled. Nesta took a sharp breath and let the frozen air chill her lungs. Her blood was ice, but she did not feel the stinging pain from the cold. Instead, she felt comforted by the chill in her bones.

              The gazes of the males turned to her. She slid a foot against the grass, then took a single step forward. Then another. And another.

              She followed the path of the scent and zeroed in on the source. He was less noticeable than the others, not as muscled or handsome. His nose was offset and too large for his face, his eyes slightly too far apart. He was snickering alongside three other males, each with matching cocky smirks.

              Cassian noticed her targeted glare and turned his attention to the four laughing males. She could feel his wrath as it turned towards the males, and they had the good sense to look uneasy as their commander turned toward them, his siphons flaring and shining.

              Nesta stalked toward the males, the power thrumming inside of her rising and rising, reaching another deadly crescendo. She felt something buzzing alongside her heart, a string vibrating between her and Cassian. For once she felt comforted by their connection.

              The oldest male, the sneering disrespectful one, took a hesitant step to the side as Nesta approached. She passed Cassian, the tips of his wings brushing against her arm and sending sparks of heat sputtering across her skin.

              “ _You,_ ” she hissed, lifting her hand and pointing to the male responsible, the one with the crooked nose. She could the pleasure his crimes brought him in his eyes. The male paled but sneered as she curled her fingers back into a tight fist.

              She felt Cassian’s anger wash over her, the heat contrasting against the cold inside of her. The power within her rose and rose, begging for blood and destruction. Nesta rolled her neck, the pop of her joints echoing loudly in the quiet air. The image of Diana’s broken body filled her mind and she growled.

              “ _You will pay for this,_ ” she seethed. The male scoffed and looked to his friends, the other culprits in the crime, for support. They had the good sense to look afraid. Nesta reached down for that power inside of her, but a little slower and carefully. She hummed as she felt death swarming in her palms and shining from her eyes. The males had stepped away from her target, giving her a wide birth as they sensed her power rising and filling the air.

              “I don’t think I will, _witch_. I’m sure whatever happened was well deserved,” he said, a dark smile sliding across his features. “And I’m sure the bitch enjoyed it,” he whispered, his tongue snaking out to slide across his lips.

              His slimy gaze slid over her body. Nesta bared her teeth and pulled her arm back, then punched the bastard right in the jaw with all her strength. The male went flying across the camp, crashing through a tent and sliding through the mud. Nesta’s heartbeat was a war drum and as she stalked towards the male, the wind returned and rustled her hair and her clothes. She marched, pulling the dregs of her power from within her soul and snarling as the male tried to unsheathe his sword.

              She would let Cassian have the others. Let him make an example of them for the rest of the camp, but this male was _hers._ She would bathe in his blood and laugh as he screamed and begged for her mercy, for there would be none.

              She could feel the warriors watching, feel their horror, as she marched across the camp, stepping around the ditch the male’s body had made in the muck. Somehow Nesta knew Cassian wouldn’t let them intervene. She was on the hunt and her prey was within reach.

              The male had risen to his feet, his wings crumpled and broken. He lifted his sword, swiping at her as she neared him. Nesta lifted a hand and focused her magic in her palm. The sword rebounded against her skin and shattered, shards of iron scattering in the wind. The male shouted in alarm. Terror filled his eyes as they met hers, and she smiled.

              “Please, spare me,” the male begged.

              “Ah, there’s the real you; a coward begging for scraps.” Nesta sneered as the male dropped to his knees.

              “I have no mercy to give to rapists and murderers,” she said quietly. Nesta lifted her hand and squatted down to be face to face with the male. She stared into his dark eyes as she pressed her hand against his chest and pushed her power into him. She did not know what to do with her magic, other than destroy.

              The male’s face pinched in pain as her power pulsed through him. She kept staring into his eyes as he paled, and his breath sputtered, and his body began to crumble beneath her hand. She remembered what Feyre said about misting, and she supposed what happened to the male was similar. He disintegrated to ash under her hand, the light from her magic seeping through the cracks in his skin before burning him from the inside out.

              Nesta rose from her crouch, feeling empty and drained, and stared into the blackened pile of ash at her feet. She turned and looked toward Cassian, who was watching her with heat burning in his hazel eyes. She held his gaze, an unreadable emotion passing between them.

 Exhaustion weighed down her limbs. Her body was frigid and stiff. She felt on the verge of shattering into a million shards of ice. She could see Cassian barking orders to some of the men, using the hilt of his sword to hit the other males who took part in the crimes against Diana. The eldest male, she now remembered him from the first time she came to the camp so long ago, did not look pleased.

              Nesta wavered on her feet, swaying back and forth on unsteady legs. She’d never used her magic like that before, or at all, and it was taking its toll. Cassian ordered the males away, dismissing them to the training fields and their daily chores and ensuring the three criminals were imprisoned.

              As the troop of warriors slowly left the clearing she created with her explosion of power, they sent her wary and hateful gazes. She should have snarled back or smiled with all the menace she could muster, but she was too tired. Instead she just stood silently and stared down into the ash that used to be a person.

              She felt Cassian approach, felt his warmth wash over her as he neared. He always burned hotter than others, at least to her. He was practically a furnace. He said nothing, only stood at her side for a few moments. They stared at the ash as the wind blew it away to nothingness. Nesta turned, looking at the destruction she caused and felt a mixture of pride and shame. She lost control, and she did not like how easy it was to fall and lose herself in that pit of power dwelling within her.

              “The males will face judgement, either be banished or killed depending on the council’s decision.” Cassian’s voice was tense and thick with anger. It seemed he did not like having to let those males live, at least for a while longer.

              He did not mention her powers, not yet at least, and she was grateful. To be honest, Nesta had no idea how she burned that male with her magic. She had just followed her instincts and trusted the ancient power’s whispers.

              “You must be exhausted after using that much magic. Are you feeling hungry?” Cassian asked, looking her up and down. Nesta scowled at him. She did not know what she was feeling. How could she eat after what just happened, what she’d seen?

              She remembered, vividly, what it was like to be _attacked_ , to be viewed as an object by men. The feel of their hands sliding under her clothes and her touching her skin and the sound of their panting haunted her. She felt like she was covered in a thin layer of slime that needed to be scrubbed away. For once, she missed Elain. Missed the light of her smile and the warmth of her presence.

              But then Nesta remembered all the things she said and did to her sister over the past six months and felt only shame and regret. It burned through her like a forest fire, eating away at the roots and blooms just beginning to sprout inside of her. It dissolved the fog that clouded her mind and soul for so long, then was washed away by a great sea of raw emotion and pain.

              She did not know what to think, what to feel, when she was _drowning_ in herself. Choking on her pain and guilt and any air she had sucked from her lungs.

              “I can manage just fine,” she started, her voice rough and hoarse, scratching against her dry throat. She met Cassian’s hazel gaze, which burned with such sorrow she felt it echo inside her own soul. He stepped closer to her and reached an arm out as though to hold her hand. She twisted in the mud and forced her legs to work properly as she walked away.

 “I just want to go lay down, while you do what you should have done and kept those males in line.” She felt the impact her words had on Cassian, even though she was turned away. Another wave of shame pulled her deeper into the sea of pain as the words left her lips. She had half a mind to turn to look back at him, but she already knew what she would see.

A broken male, standing over a child’s corpse, with no hope or happiness. His brilliant wings would be drooped and brushing against the ground, his head lowered in guilt. A male who strived for the respect of his people but was rejected at every turn, demeaned with every order, and looked down on for his blood, and envied for his strength.

              It was no wonder Cassian made light of everything in his life. If he didn’t, Nesta believed he would have walked out into the woods with nothing but his clothes on his back and disappeared like Celene’s brother.

              Maybe she would join him. Let herself be swallowed by the trees and the mountains and the snow until she truly was nothing but ice and wind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next part, I hope y'all enjoy and don't forget to let me know what you think! I love hearing from you!


	4. IV

IV

              Nesta woke to darkness.

              The camp was quiet, or as quiet as it could be. She could still hear flapping wings and muffled voices and laughter. There was no way of knowing something so tragic happened only a day ago. No signs of remorse or mourning for the small Illyrian female who dreamed of becoming a warrior.

              Nesta sat up in her bed, having collapsed over the covers long ago, shivering. She turned towards her window where the barest flickers of bonfire danced between her curtains. She was still wearing the clothes Cassian gave her the day before, save for her boots which she thankfully remembered to slide off before passing out.

              She barely remembered what happened after she snapped at Cassian and returned to the house. She couldn’t remember eating and based on the pain in her stomach she must have chosen sleep over a meal. She carefully rose from her bed, her muscles shaking. She still felt drained.

              With a pained groan, she walked across the room and stumbled out into the hall. Nesta rubbed her temple and made her way towards the kitchen, where the smell of meat cooking wafted. She turned the corner, expecting to see Cassian or some servant over the stove, but instead was met with a white ball of fur seated at the table and one of the servant girls standing near a giant pot on the stove with a fearful expression.

              “Finally, you’ve emerged from that pit you call a room,” a female voice purred from within the ball of fur. Nesta felt a cold shiver roll down her spine. Grimacing, she responded, “Hello Amren.”

              The ball of white fluff shifted and Amren’s face emerged from a fold in the oversized coat. Her ancient eyes rolled from Nesta’s bare feet to the tangled mess of her hair and the bags under her eyes. Nesta jutted out her chin and strode over to the stove where the girl was making a stew. She peered into the pot and sniffed. She could smell potatoes and venison and vegetables, and the scent made her stomach grumble and her mouth water. Satisfied, she grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and spooned a large helping of the stew before turning to face Amren, who was still seated within her large fur coat with only her head peeking out.

              Nesta leaned against the counter while she ate, her gaze locked on Amren’s. Faelights flickered in the corners of the room, casting a warm glow throughout the house.

              “Girl, make yourself scarce,” Amren ordered, a pale arm emerging from the fluff to wave the servant away. Nesta’s lips curled and she growled, “You do not get to speak to her like that.”

              Amren raised a single brow but said nothing in response to Nesta’s outburst. The girl ran from the room and out of the house, the front door slamming shut behind her. Nesta continued slowly eating her stew, maintaining Amren’s eye contact. If Amren decided to answer Cassian’s call, it was because she had her own secret intentions in visiting the war camp.

              Perhaps she would report back to Feyre, but Nesta knew that was unlikely. The thought of her sisters, enjoying themselves in Velaris and in the new estates while she froze in the middle of nowhere, sent longing piercing through her heart. In fact, Amren’s presence brought back those memories of her time isolating herself from her family.

              “Why did you come?” Nesta asked as she set aside her empty bowl. Amren shrugged, the fluff of her coat shifting as she moved. “Cassian can be persuasive when he wants to, and I was curious.”

              Nesta pursed her lips. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her skin and granting her focus. She did not want to think about what Cassian might have said to summon Amren up to the northern mountains of Illyria. She didn’t _want_ to think about the words he would have carefully penned on paper, but still her curiosity grew.

              “He told me what happened.” Amren’s legs slowly poked out of the bottom of her coat and she rose to her feet, a giant snowball with only legs and a head. Nesta felt the corner of her lip twitch at the sight, but she carefully restrained her amusement. Nesta liked having her tongue in her mouth, and Amren would surely rip it out if she wanted.

              “And that made you want to come here?” Nesta gestured to the dark house and the cold. Amren sneered and nodded. “Unfortunately.”

              Sniffing, Amren strolled over to the fireplace and Nesta felt her entire body tense. She felt her heart stammering in her chest and anxiety pumping through her blood. She felt as though she had been dunked into a frozen lake, cold stinging at every cell as her air left her lungs and she drowned.

              “No fire.” Nesta growled, her voice less intimidating than she would have liked from the wobble in her tone. Amren rolled her eyes and glared at Nesta from her spot beside the fireplace. “Girl, you have to get through it eventually or you’ll freeze to death.”

              With a snap of her fingers, flames burst to life in the fireplace. A whoosh of blessed warm air washed over Nesta’s cold skin as the fire curled and rolled in the fireplace. There was a brief moment of peace, as she felt the heat of the flames fan across her chilled form and the glow of the fire shone throughout the room. But only a moment, for when the flames bit and chewed at the wood and the _crack_ echoed in the empty air, Nesta felt her body seize up and her mind reel at the sound.

              She could feel Amren watching her reaction, watching as Nesta’s breath came out in short, panicked pants and her hands began to shake, which did nothing to help her control. She felt the magic inside of her bubble under her skin and she yearned to let it loose and release the pressure building up inside of her.

              “Nesta, he’s dead and you can’t change that.” Amren’s voice called out, piercing through the anxiety and panic overwhelming Nesta’s senses.

              She felt a growl rumble in her chest when the firewood snapped and cracked again. Amren rolled her eyes and tossed her ridiculously oversized coat to the ground, revealing the skintight jumpsuit she wore underneath. The next thing Nesta knew, Amren’s cold hands were on her cheeks and her piercing gaze locked onto hers. Amren may have sacrificed her ancient, primaeval form in the war, but she was still the oldest and most intimidating creature in Prythian. As Amren focused her entire attention on the panicked female in front of her, Nesta could feel the weight of that ancient power in her bones.

              “Don’t forget that you are stronger than anyone in this camp, and potentially in this entire court. Your powers are your own, your mind is your own, and nobody can take that from you,” Amren’s thumb circled Nesta’s jawline, her gaze softening almost imperceptibly. “Don’t let that dead bastard king take that from you.”

              It was like the breath had returned to her lungs, calming the writhing sea of panic inside of her. Her arms went limp at her sides and her shoulders slumped. Amren was right, of course. While each crackle of wood in the fireplace sent another pulse of adrenaline through her veins, she did not feel as overwhelmed.

              She was Nesta Archeron. She was as strong and enduring as the mountains surrounding her. She may be scattered in tiny shattered pieces, but she was beginning to pick up those shards and put herself back together. Amren hummed and released Nesta’s face, stepping back to the fireplace and snatching her coat from the floor, dusting it off with a disdainful grimace. With a great flourish, Amren was once again enveloped in the gigantic fluff.

              “Remember what I said, girl. Your sisters want you back in Velaris.” Amren said. Nesta stiffened at the mention of her family, guilt pooling in her gut. Amren huffed and turned to face the flames, their red glow illuminating her sharp features. Nesta swore there was something sorrowful in those silver eyes as they reflected the light of the fire, but it was gone so fast Nesta thought it could have been a trick of the light.

              Nesta heard the door slam open and felt a wave of cold air wash over her, sending goosebumps rising across her skin. She turned to see Cassian stomping into the room, and when she looked back at the fireplace, Amren was gone.

              “Oh, you’re up,” Cassian said, his voice concerned. Nesta just stared at the fire, entranced by the dancing flames and Amren’s advice still echoing in her ears. She heard Cassian call her name again, but she didn’t acknowledge him.

              It was only when he was standing right in front of her that she met his gaze.

              “Nesta, are you alright?” He asked again, his hand lifting as though to grab her, only to pause in the air and settle back at his side. His wings were tucked tight against his back and his red siphons glittered in the firelight.

              “I’m fine.” She answered after a moment. She turned to the kitchen and said, “There’s soup, if you’re hungry.”

              Cassian’s eyes narrowed suspiciously but he followed her into the kitchen and grabbed a helping of the warm stew. Nesta collapsed onto one of the wooden chairs around the table, dropping her head onto her hand and sighing. Cassian sat across from her, watching her warily as he slowly ate the bowl of stew.

              “Amren was here,” she said, peeking between her fingers to watch his reaction. He blinked, eyes widening slightly, but then schooled his features into a calm mask. So he wasn’t aware she had answered his message.   
              “Oh?” He said, stuffing another mouthful of stew in his maw. Nesta dropped her hand and faced him directly. “She had some interesting things to say.”

              “I’m sure she did,” Cassian said with a low chuckle. It was then that Nesta noticed the weariness in his expression, the darkness under his eyes and the slump of his broad shoulders. For someone who loved food and loved eating it even more, he was picking at the scraps of his stew. Nesta knew what was causing him such grief, hell it was causing her enough grief for the both of them. She knew he would take the death of the girl too close to heart, going so far as to blame himself for the actions of others and blindly believing he had the power to stop it.

              “It wasn’t your fault,” she blurted, surprised by her own compassion. Cassian dropped his spoon into the bowl and stared at her, eyes wide and pupils blown. She blinked away her embarrassment and clenched her jaw as she continued, “There was nothing to be done. We both need to realize that.”

              Cassian glared at her, his anger directed more towards himself. “Can you be absolutely sure of that? They’re my men, my responsibility.” Nesta tossed her hair over her shoulder and leaned over the table.

              “Maybe so, but they knew your position on the females and their place in the Illyrian hierarchy. They knew what would happen, but they did it anyway and _that_ is not your fault,” she said with a burning intensity. For some reason, she was compelled to comfort Cassian. The part of her that tended to his wounds and kissed him on the battlefield was winning out over the reserved half of her personality. Cassian propped his elbows on the table and leaned in towards Nesta, so their faces were mere inches apart.

              “What makes you care _now_ , after so long?” He asked, his voice an angry whisper. Nesta rose to his challenge, a spark of anger lighting in her chest. She felt the mysterious connection between them pull taut, drawing her closer and closer. She prepared to say some snappy retort that would send him crawling back to his chambers, but the words died on her lips. Cassian noticed the change and his head tilted in confusion, his eyes darting between hers, desperate for an answer.

              “I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice cracking. Any anger residing within him melted away and he reached across the table with one hand until their fingertips touched. Nesta shuddered as heat pooled within her at his touch, the string tying her to him drawing her closer and whispering mindless temptations in her ear.

              “Every time I close my eyes I see chaos and bloodshed. Diana is just another face in the destruction,” she rambled. For once, she wanted to let go of her insecurities and drop her walls and allow someone to comfort her. She wanted to crawl up against Cassian and have him hold her, enveloping her in a cocoon of warmth and security. She _wanted_ to be close to him, wanted to comfort him and be comforted by him. And as exhilarating as her desires were, they were equally terrifying. She could not remember the last time she let someone in.

              “At night,” Cassian began, drawing Nesta from her inner turmoil, “I dream of the centuries of war, of the males I killed, the _boys_. Now I see Rhysand lying dead at the Cauldron’s feet, I see Azriel pierced with a thousand ash arrows, I see Feyre falling before the Cauldron and I see you,” he paused, his hand twisting to grab hers.

              “I see you holding a sword that you can barely lift, standing between me and that King,” his voice cracked, and his gaze dropped to the swirls in the wood of the table. “I see the King stab you instead.”

              Nesta could feel her walls cracking and crumbling at his sad confessions. He looked so small, even though he was the biggest male she’d ever seen. Nesta squeezed his hand and dropped her head so that their foreheads touched. For once, she was going to ignore the gut wrenching fear telling her to run away.

              “ _I will find you in the next life, and we will have that time. I promise.”_ She recited. She felt Cassian tense and heard his sharp breath. He met her gaze, their noses bumping against each other as they stared into each other’s eyes. “We have time, Cassian.”

              She released his hand and slowly slid her hands up his arms and around his neck, her fingers tangling in the loose hair at the nape of his neck. She felt him push into her touch and could see the heat in his gaze, a fire that burned in hers as well. She didn’t know, or care, how long they sat there, holding each other and breathing the same air. Soon Nesta’s anxious heartbeat slowed and relaxed, along with the rest of her body. She felt at home for the first time in months.

              There was a violent snap from the fireplace, sending another wave of panic through Nesta’s body. Jerking, she felt her breath come in short rasps as she clung to Cassian. He began to murmur comforting words and he reached across to rub her arms and shoulders.

              “I can put the fire out,” he said, staring at her frightened eyes with nothing but concern. Nesta shook her head and took a shaky breath. “What’s done is done.”

              She pulled away from him slowly, not wanting to leave his touch. Where their skin met, she felt jolts of heat pulse through her body. She was not used to casually holding someone, nor being held in return. Cassian watched as she walked to the fireplace and stood before the great crackling flames, her long loose hair curling down her spine. She flinched every time the firewood spat and groaned, but she stood firm. She felt Cassian approach, his warmth at her back as he stood behind her, watching her. Nesta shook as she fought against the violent memories pulling at her mind, the _snap_ and _pop_ of bone echoed in the broad fireplace.

              “You once said you needed my help,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She heard the rustling of his wings before he answered. “What happened the other day was only the beginning, I’m afraid.”

              Nesta turned to face him, steel in her gaze. “Tell me.” And he did. Cassian told her of the rising dissent among Illyrians after the war, and how Rhys had sent him to the camp to start investigating rumors of a rebellion that would start a civil war within the Night Court.

              “They’re using the death toll of the war and Rhys’s so called modern philosophies that go against Illyrian tradition as a basis for their movement. The male you killed,” he paused, as if waiting for a reaction. “He came from a settlement in the far northern reaches of the Court, where the highest concentration of the traitors originated.”

              Nesta nodded, briefly wondering why Cassian was dealing with the Illyrian’s on his own. Surely Azriel would be helping him. Then she remembered the scars littering Azriel’s skin, a constant reminder of his hatred for Illyrians and their culture. Nesta thought of the disrespect every captain and warrior held for Cassian, who they believed unworthy of his title and his strength, and she thought maybe she wouldn’t want to help preserve the culture that tossed Cassian aside for no reason other than his blood.

              Yet, Cassian loved his people, loved the Illyrian mountains. She’d seen him laughing and hunting with younger warriors, seen the happiness he felt when he flew alongside his brothers. If the males who killed Diana were part of a larger faction, more girls could be in danger. If war broke out, Nesta did not know if she could survive it.  

              She stared into Cassian’s face, to the dark shadows under his eyes and a small scar at his brow. His lashes spread flush against his skin when he closed his eyes, lashes far too pretty to belong to a male. She could see the shadows of his wings behind him, the firelight scattering through the membranous skin, highlighting the scars lining them. She longed to reach out and stroke her fingers down the raised light lines, as though she could heal past wounds with just her touch. She saw the strength in his body, his muscles, but also the weakness and vulnerability in his eyes and the slump of his shoulders.         

              He needed her help, and she honestly wanted to give it to him. She was still struggling against the maelstrom battering her from within and the all-encompassing pain and raw emotion that rained down on her, but perhaps if she had a purpose. If she dedicated herself to something greater, something higher than herself, maybe she could sail through the terrible storm and find her way home again. In the back of her mind, she realized her idea of home had been changing since she was thrust in the Cauldron, morphing away from her sisters and her mortal life to an Illyrian warrior with just too much heart to spare.

              She dropped her hands against her sides, fisting the fabric of her trousers to keep from reaching out for the sad male standing before her.

              “Where do we start?” She asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I've completely caught up to where I am on tumblr, so stay tuned! I hope you like the direction I'm taking this story and let me know what you think down in the comments! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

V.

              Nesta was packing again. Her meager belongings barely filled the pack Cassian gave her even half full. Celene was gracious enough to give her some old clothes she’d tailored to fit, the girl having become quite attached in the past few days. She folded the extra trousers and blouse and set them in the pack, pausing when her hands shook too much to continue.

              Ever since she killed the male with her magic, it had pulsed beneath her skin and flared through her blood. It seemed by accepting them, her powers had truly awoken and Nesta was unprepared to face their full force. Amren said Cassian would be able to help her learn to control them, but Nesta still could not bring herself to ask for his help. It didn’t help that since they stayed up all night, talking about the Illyrian mutiny and festering discontent with Rhysand and the Night Court nearly four days ago, that she could barely stand to be away from his presence, barely stand not _touching_ him. Even accidentally brushing her arm against his when they walked or passed by each other send a wave of heat and longing pulsing through her.

              In her dreams she relived their past moments, their past kisses and touches, and imagined future ones. She _hated_ it. Hated the weakness she felt around him, the cursed vulnerability he brought out of her. They were stuck together now, though. United to bring peace and change to the ferocious Illyrians. Deep in her heart, Nesta did not think they would be able to do it. Neither of them demanded the necessary respect from any Illyrian warrior, so how were they supposed to stop a civil war from breaking out.

              She had to try. For Diana. For all the young females who faced the same discrimination and threats. And for Cassian, for she did not think he could survive a war where he would be forced to fight against his own kind. She knew he would not be able to face himself after obliterating them. To him, the Illyrian mountains and those who lived in them were his home.

She could see it in his face when he would step out into the crisp morning air and take in the sight of the sun rising slowly over the steep snow-covered mountains, threads of sunlight piercing through the clouds and reaching across the sky, painting it with golds and oranges. She could see the love for his culture when he emerged from a fight in the pits, laughing and smiling along with his opponent. She saw it when he watched the females train, his vision for their future as clear as day in those hazel eyes of his. She saw his love when he flew, his great wings carrying him high over the clouds and across the steppes.

              Nesta shook her head, trying to banish the traitorous thoughts and closed the pack. She quickly ensured her hair was locked into the crowned plait around her head. Her power itched under her skin and she absentmindedly scratched at the skin of her forearm to try and ease the ache.

              When she emerged from her chambers, Cassian was already in the dining room, a loaf of bread and a jar of raspberry jam on the table in front of him. He was staring off into nothing, looking lost in thought, a jam coated slice of bread hanging from his hand. Nesta bit her lip to keep her smile at bay and slammed her bag on the table, jolting him from his stupor.

              “Better eat that before your drool hits the floor,” she said. Cassian stared at her blankly, then looked down at the toast in his hand almost sadly. “We really should eat something other than toast for breakfast.”

              “We aren’t in Velaris anymore. There’s no café’s or bakeries to get scones.” Nesta scoffed. A twinge of regret pulled at her heart. It wasn’t like she ever went to any of those places while she lived in Velaris, she was too busy drinking.

              “That is unfortunate,” Cassian replied. Nesta glanced up from her toast to look at him with curiosity. He was unusually somber. She could see dark bags under his eyes and sensed he wasn’t sleeping well, if at all. She could practically feel his stress just from standing a few feet away. It was strange to feel like the healthy one in the room. While she still couldn’t sleep with a fire roaring in her room, she’d been sleeping a little better the past few nights.

              “Cassian,” Nesta began. He met her gaze, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “We don’t have to go today.”

              “Sweetheart, if that were true I’d be in bed.” Cassian took a bite of his toast, jam dripping down his chin. Nesta rolled her eyes.

              “We’ll fly to a small village, if it can even be called that. It’s more of a collection of buildings people happen to visit,” Cassian said, swiping the jam from his chin and licking it off his finger. Nesta bit into her toast with a bit too much force and accidentally nicked her lip. Cursing at herself internally, she wiped away the drop of blood and hoped he didn’t notice. “Depending on the weather, we’ll either stay at the tavern there or fly the rest of the way to the camp, which is a good half days flight away from there already.”

              Nesta nodded, choosing to slowly munch at her meager breakfast instead of chiming in. She didn’t know why her awareness of his presence was suddenly amplified. She only knew it was making it extremely hard to maintain her cold distance. The flares of her magic weren’t making it any easier to focus and control herself, either. As she stared at him in the growing light as the sun dawned over the towering mountain ranges surrounding them, she felt the desire to ask for his help in controlling her magic grow, the words crawling up her throat only to be trapped on her tongue and between her teeth.

              Hissing, she grabbed the bread loaf and added it to her pack. She felt her magic crawling under her skin and she itched at her arm again as the uncomfortable sensation intensified across her body. The red shine of Cassian’s four siphons, one on each hand and each shoulder, caught the sunlight reaching through the front windows, distracting her from the itching. Curiosity got the better of her and she asked, “How did you know you needed so many siphons?”

              Cassian looked at her with disbelief, never expecting Nesta of all people to ask about siphons with genuine interest. “I was born with incredible power. Power I could not control on my own. Illyrians created siphons to help focus our raw magic, and I stopped adding them when I felt balanced.”

              Nesta hummed. She stared into the red stones, an idea popping into her head. An idea she quickly dismissed. She wasn’t Illyrian, she wasn’t even High Fae. She was _unique_. Cauldron-born. _Made_.

              She still remembered how magnificent Cassian had looked, dressed head to toe in fierce black armor and seven siphons adorning his body. He truly looked the part of his title then, his expression murderous and massive wings spread, his siphons reflecting the light and drawing attention. He and Azriel were unique among all Illyrians, each born with tremendous power but focused in different areas of strength. She remembered, even dressed in all his splendor, how Cassian looked when facing Hybern’s army and the impossibility of their task. His body spoke of confidence, but in his eyes, she could see his fear. It wasn’t directed towards his own survival, but rather the survival of his friends and his warriors.

              Cassian just waited patiently while Nesta stared at the siphon on his hand, lost in her thoughts. Though she had only been away from Velaris for nearly a fortnight, she was already looking healthier. Yes, her eyes were still haunted by dark circles, but her cheeks were filling out and she seemed stronger in the brisk mountain air. He knew it was out of line, but he’d been keeping track of her meals and what she ate.

              Nesta snapped out of her daze and blinked at Cassian. Once again, the question haunting her pushed against her closed lips and begged to be asked, but she pushed it away. She would not ask for his help. She didn’t even know if he _could_ help with her strange magic.

              “Are we leaving or not?” She asked with a bite to her tone. Cassian smirked and grabbed his bag and hers as he passed.

              “Keep up, sweetheart. We have quite the journey ahead of us,” he teased as he walked away and out of the house. Seething, Nesta grumbled to herself while she slowly followed him out of the manor house. She was still mumbling curses under her breath when she slammed open the front door, revealing a gathering of the elder warriors, Devlon at the head, standing with their arms crossed over their chest. Cassian was stopped at the base of the front stairs, staring at his men, wings flaring out behind him. She could feel the tension in the air as she slowly stepped down to the second to last step, her head level with Cassian’s as she peered past his wings to the line of warriors.

              “Devlon,” Cassian said slowly. The old male glared across at Nesta and she sneered and bared her teeth in response. Devlon’s lip curled in disgust and he turned his attention to Cassian.

              “Cassian,” he began.

              “That’s your commander, show him the respect of his position,” Nesta snapped. Devlon ignored her and his sneer deepened. She could see Cassian’s wings spread wider at her words and she wondered what he was thinking. A small insecure part of her wished she hadn’t said anything, knowing how Cassian’s relationship with his fellow Illyrians was tense enough already. But she couldn’t just stand idly by and watch the bastards disrespect him like that. Not anymore. Not since the raw emotional awakening she went through a few days ago.

              “We have concerns. About the _witch_.” Devlon’s snide eyes slid to her and she felt a growl rumbling in her chest. Her magic flared inside of her and she clenched her fists to keep it from breaking free. She stepped down to the ground, Cassian’s wing lifting to allow her to pass, only for his arm to grab her and stop her from charging forwards. Hissing, she glanced over at him and paused. His eyes were burning with anger and something else she couldn’t recognize. Shame? Regret?

              “You should trust your commander’s judgement,” Cassian responded. The warriors grumbled, and she saw a couple roll their eyes. Nesta was fuming. A great raging fire of rage was sparking in Cassian’s defense, knowing how he longed for the respect of his fellow warriors. Why now, after all this time, she felt so protective of him, she couldn’t say. Maybe it started when he found her lost in painful flashbacks outside the manor house, or when they hunted down the criminal males together and he helped her control her magic.

              Or maybe it had been inside her all along, waiting deep inside her injured soul. Waiting among the shattered pieces of herself for when she finally pieced herself together. Maybe the connection she felt tying them together was the first string woven through her broken soul, the core to the woven tapestry she would create as she healed.

              “This _witch_ has concerns about you male brutes,” Nesta snarled. She saw the corner of Cassian’s lips twitch from the edge of her vision. Cassian took a step forward and his siphons sparked red in the morning light. All four of them. A constant reminder of his power.

              “Nesta is as welcome in the Illyrian lands as much as any of you,” He said. She felt surprise pulse through her at his words. To her, she was banished up here, far from her sisters, not welcomed with open arms.

              “The witch needs to go. Her powers are unchecked and it’s too dangerous,” Devlon continued. Nesta scowled. “What about the girl who was murdered here? What about the dangers she faced?”

              Devlon rolled his eyes and Nesta felt her magic roll with fury. She could tell her eyes were shining as her magic leaked into her every pore. Cassian grabbed her arm and squeezed it as a warning. They had bigger things to worry about right now. Her magic had other plans.

              Nesta felt the waves rising inside of her. Her magic was alive in her body, spreading like fire on her skin and sparking against her nerves in a brilliant dance, twirling and rolling beneath her skin like a living, breathing thing. Her anger was not burning with heat, not like Cassian. No, it was cold like ice. As numbing as the freezing air she breathed into her lungs and as consuming as winter itself. Life cowered at her presence and hid. Her magic was as old as the earth itself, if not older, and she could feel its ancient power deep in her bones as it permeated every fiber of her being.

              She did not trust herself to hold that power back.  

              “Cassian,” she said through gritted teeth. He glanced at her, confused. Understanding lit his eyes and he turned back towards his warriors with the full brunt of his authority and strength.

              He was a true Commander. Leader of legions of warriors, not just the Illyrian forces. It took _seven_ damned siphons to channel his killing power. Nesta could tell he was putting on an intimidating front, knew he was truly soft at heart, but it was still an impressive display that made a primal part of her coil and purr.

              “We are journeying further north and shall return in a few weeks. I expect everything to be running as smoothly as it did under my direct authority. Don’t fucking test me, Devlon, or you’ll see exactly why Nesta isn’t the only thing you should fear.” His stare bored into the leading male, burning through him.

              Devlon’s scowl deepened further, the males around him sharing similar expressions of anger and disrespect. Nevertheless, Devlon seemed to notice the magic rising almost uncontrollably in Nesta and nodded his assent to Cassian’s orders.

              “Now, back to work!” Cassian ordered. The males grumbled but dispersed, returning to their original duties for the morning. Nesta caught the stare of one particularly furious looking male, younger than the others and with a deep disgusted scowl carving lines in his face. She noted the silver insignia of a fist holding a lightning bolt painted onto the chest of his leather armor. She didn’t recognize it from anything she knew of in the fae world, but it seemed to hold significance to the male.

              Nesta decided she would tell Cassian about the insignia later, when they were away from the bustling camp. Maybe he’d seen it before and knew what it meant. Her gut told her it would bring trouble and they would see it again.

              As she followed Cassian out into the forest, focused on reeling in the magic writhing inside of her, she continued itching at her arm. The droning buzz in her veins was only soothed by the itching pain. Despite the cold, she’d rolled up her sleeves, so she could scratch more.

              Before she knew it, they were well into the forest, the sound of the camp fading away and the natural sounds of the woods taking its place. Though winter still kept a strong grasp on the northern lands, there were signs of spring. A few flowers were blooming, and the grasses were growing again beneath the trees. Even birds began singing their cheerful songs in the trees.

              It was infinitely more relaxing than the loudness of the war camp. Nesta felt a weight on her shoulders lift the further away from the Illyrian camp they went.

              “Alright, Nesta, now that we made it out of there, let’s fly,” Cassian said with an all too cheerful smile. A glimmer of mischief shone in his eyes and Nesta realized that in order for them to fly to the village, he’d have to carry her. In his muscular arms. Holding her against his chest. For hours.

              The pulse of her magic paled in comparison to the nervous pounding of her heart. She hoped she wasn’t blushing as much as she thought she was but based on how Cassian’s smile grew more feral she knew red stained her cheeks.

              “Try anything, and I’ll rip off your favorite part and feed it to the wolves,” she said, marching towards him with a deep scowl.

              “Trust me, sweetheart. I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, opening his arms and dropping to swing her legs out from under her and lift her against his chest. Her face was pressed in the crook of his neck, his scent swarming her senses.

              “Besides,” Cassian’s smile grew, and she felt a rumbling chuckle in his chest. “It might become _your_ favorite part, too.”

              Before Nesta had a chance to say anything in return, they were airborne and the wind was pulled from her lungs at the force of Cassian’s take off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to check out my tumblr for more! @an-upset-librarian  
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I figured I'd go ahead and post this here, but follow my tumblr, @an-upset-librarian, for sneak peeks and previews and other ACOTAR fics.   
> I hope you enjoy this story, and don't forget to leave a comment below! Thanks for reading.


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